


going out of my mind (i need to tell you something)

by owlvsdove



Series: do you want me too? [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, Ice Skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8605945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove
Summary: Skye’s not sure why Jemma’s nice to her.(baby gay figure skating au)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleeplessmiles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/gifts).



 

Skye’s not sure why Jemma’s nice to her.

Skye knows why _she’s_ nice to _Jemma_ , but in reverse it doesn’t make any sense. Especially since an hour ago Skye got within three-tenths of Jemma’s winning position. At Nationals. In an Olympics year. The thing they all have been training for their whole lives.

Well, the thing Jemma has been training for her whole life. Poor orphan Skye is another story.

“You were incredible today,” Skye finds herself saying. Her voice is too loud in the peace of the locker room, puncturing it sharply and echoing against the dingy cinderblock walls. The room had been bustling with post-competition energy just thirty minutes ago, but Skye has been lingering.

So has Jemma, apparently. And now they’re the only two left.

Before she can catch Jemma’s look of surprise, she turns back to the mirror set up in her locker for the day and works her scalp-tight braid open with her fingers.

“Thank you,” Jemma says politely. “So were you.”

Skye doesn’t know how to respond, quickly letting herself become distracted by the knots in her hair.

“Do you…?” Jemma says suddenly. And then she’s waving her hairbrush around. “I could do that for you, if you need help.”

“Thanks.”

There is no earthly reason why Skye should’ve just accepted help from her competition. In total this season they’ve spoken maybe twenty words to each other directly, max. But it’s not like she doesn’t know why she sits down on the bench, why she leans back and lets Jemma slide the brush gently through her hair. She knows why she’s so nice to Jemma. Everyone must know by now.

The hairbrush gets caught on a snag, tugging Skye’s head back. Jemma clucks, almost absentmindedly, murmuring her apologies.

“That’s okay,” Skye whispers. It hadn’t hurt. It had felt good.

Her face burns.

Too soon, Jemma pulls away, delicate fingers leaving her head.

“You should be set now,” she says. She clears her throat.

Skye turns to her, and then realizes a minute too late that her eyes are half-lidded, focus fled.

She needs to move, she needs to make a _move_ , Jemma’s right there in front of her. Move, _move._

Jemma makes the decision for her - steps back, clears her throat again, and returns to her locker to pack up her stuff in a hurry.

Moment over.

 

 

 

They’re in Boston for one more day - most of yesterday’s skaters stuck around after the exhibition to do press and, for the luckier ones, talk sponsorships. Dad, because he’s Dad, gets Skye to a skate practice at 8 AM the next morning, because apparently immediately after Nationals isn’t the time to take a break.

Of course, it’s all made slightly better when Skye walks in and sees Jemma on the ice already.

Dad’s pissed. It takes Skye a minute to remember why.

“Melinda,” he says coldly.

“Phil,” the severe woman, Jemma’s coach, nods.

“We rented out this space a month ago,” Dad says, testy as hell. Like this isn’t suddenly the best morning of Skye’s life.

Jemma skates smoothly over to the edge of the rink where they’ve congregated. “Is something wrong?”

“We rented out this space a month ago,” he repeats, far too sharply to be talking to Jemma. To her credit, Jemma seems nonplussed. It’s not like Phil is the worst of the stage-parents, anyway.

“You’re early, Mr. Coulson,” Jemma points out. She’s polite, of course, but for some reason Skye gets the sense that she’s mocking him.

“We’re on our way out, Phil,” May says. And before Phil can get through _don’t you Phil me, Melinda_ , Skye’s mouth has moved.

“She can stay.”

Phil falls silent. “Skye, you need to focus on--”

“It’s a big rink, Dad.” And then she sends him a look so simultaneously stern and desperate that he gives in. Maybe for the first time ever.

Skye moves quickly, before he changes his mind. Sits down on the first set of bleachers and strips her sneakers for skates. Tries not to prove her dad right and get distracted as Jemma does lazy little turns in front of her, waiting.

Skye makes her way to the rink and suddenly a pale hand juts out, Jemma offering to help her onto the ice.

“That’s...chivalrous,” Skye says as she takes it, unable to let that pass without comment. Jemma seems to flush, turning gracefully, though suddenly, on her blade and leaving Skye behind.

So naturally Skye follows.

“Sorry about him,” she says when she catches up.

“Your dad is…” But Jemma trails off, finding no word appropriate to describe the man.

“I know,” Skye says. This is supremely embarrassing. “But...you know. You can’t choose your family.” Jemma says nothing, and that leaves time for Skye to stutter. “I mean, he did. Because I’m adopted. But I…”

“I get it,” Jemma says mercifully. “I’m sure he’s just proud of you.”

Before Skye can respond, a sharp voice calls out. “Jemma, back to your triple.”

Jemma startles, looks apologetically to Skye and then skates away.  

Skye drags her attention away to see Phil power-walking around the rink to her.

“Skye, your triple!” he hisses when he’s close enough.

“Dad, _please_.”

 

 

 

“Press conference is at 10:30,” May is saying to Jemma. “We should head back.”

Jemma stops. “Actually, Skye and I are going to get breakfast across the street.”

Skye doesn’t let her surprise show on her face. “We’re hungry,” she says instead, trying a pout on May that already has Phil saying yes.

May gives her a long, blank look before turning back to Jemma.

But she still doesn’t say anything, and she and Jemma seem to have a complete conversation without any sort of expression or vocalization. Unlike Skye and her dad, who have to debate everything loudly and dramatically or else nothing gets settled. It’s terrifying.

After what seems like ages, May just says _fine_ and stalks off. Though not before reminding Jemma not to be late and Jemma rolling her eyes in response.

“Come along,” Jemma says smugly, grabbing her hand, and Skye trails after her into the brightness of the morning and the chill of the air.

 

 

 

“Pancakes?”

“I know,” Jemma says. She even looks guilty about it.

“I just would’ve expected the top figure skater in the country to be more rigid.” But Skye’s teasing, of course. At this point if Jemma had just ordered a raw egg to swallow whole, Skye still would’ve melted.

“That’s a common expectation, I think,” Jemma says, looking at her balled up fingers on the edge of the table. And for the first time Skye sees something unexpected.

Deep loneliness. And years of intense scrutiny that have made her very, very careful.

“It must be hard,” Skye sobers. “Having all of this pressure on you all the time. I just started and I’m already freaking out.”

Jemma gives her a tight smile. “You get used to it.”

“It’s stupid,” Skye continues. “I had this weird hope that I’d walk into my first meet and all of these girls would…”

“What?” Jemma prompts.

“Be friends with me?” Skye says. She winces. “Or be friends with each other already and welcome me into it. Show me how to...exist here, I guess.”

Jemma doesn’t seem to think less of her for that, though. “Not many of the girls here are as nice as you are,” she says. And Skye can feel her face burning again. So Jemma did notice. Fuck.

“I’m...different,” Skye offers weakly.

“I can see that,” Jemma says softly. “It’s not a bad thing.”

She’s sucked into the warm look in Jemma’s eyes, the unguarded affection in the set of her lips. Skye starts to hope.

They must look at each other for far too long, because Jemma visibly startles when the waitress clinks their plates down in front of them.

“Thank you,” Jemma murmurs to the woman. She clears her throat.

Skye can’t stop her smile.

 

 

 

At some point Skye says _I’m going to use the bathroom_ and Jemma says _I’ll come with you_ ; and that’s how it happens.

Jemma’s a step behind her, and when Skye turns to say something Jemma puts a hand on her arm and it’s...it’s like she can take a full breath for the first time since they all arrived for Nationals.

Skye knows better than to open her mouth right now so she backs up against the sink and Jemma fits herself between Skye’s hips.

“Is this o--” she starts, but Skye swallows it, cover her mouth with her own. Jemma sighs, something like relief, and all the tension in her leaves, tension Skye didn’t realize until just this moment that Jemma is always carrying. The burden of being the best, as twisted as that sounds. The isolation.

It starts slow. This is unprecedented, at least for Skye. Not kissing in general, but kissing in a way that has gravity. Skye leaves her hands gripping the edge of the counter until she can’t stand it anymore. Once her fingers curl into Jemma’s shirt, it’s over. Any pretending like they weren’t dancing around this, like they both don’t need this, is totally gone.

Jemma’s mouth opens for her easily, her cool hands coming up to Skye’s neck, threading through her loose hair. There is a storm in the pit of Skye’s stomach, a warm swirling, a buzz, an undeniable pull. The first. She can’t breathe.

She actually can’t breathe, so she pulls away, panting hard. Jemma’s eyes stay closed for a long moment while they both try to catch their breath, and Skye tries very hard not to panic.

This moment could go very, very wrong.

“Sorry,” Jemma whispers suddenly.

But Skye had been the one who’d kissed her first, Skye had been the one so utterly enamored with her from the moment she saw her. She shakes her head, and keeps shaking - small and violent little nos.

“Don’t be sorry,” Skye murmurs. She tries not to make it sound like begging. “Please don’t be sorry.”

Jemma peeks up at her, and whatever she sees in Skye’s expression brings that relief back. She starts to lean in again, slow slow slow, and Skye goes cross-eyed trying to watch Jemma’s attempts at hiding her smile.

 

 

 

They’re a good half an hour late to the press conference - other skaters waiting, reporters waiting, May and Phil furious beyond belief. _What will the figure skating community think_ , Phil hisses, _when the first and second place champions refuse to show up to their own press conference on time_?

With Jemma close behind her, Skye can’t find it in her to care.

  
  



End file.
